


Tattoo'd Heart

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: When John was 17, he did something sort of on a whim: he got a tattoo. Paul has never liked this tattoo, and he's hardly hid it well. Valentine's Day is coming, and John wants to do something big to please his man. And his tattoo may be a casualty.





	1. Shower Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Even though it's the 60s, I'm just going to pretend that laser tattoo removal is a real thing. I know that it would not become popular for a few more decades, but I thought why not?

Raindrops clattered against the window overlooking John and Paul’s bedroom. John was grateful for the space heater in the corner of their one-bedroom flat; and he was glad Paul was there to remind him to bring an umbrella. Before they lived together, John ignored the existence of weather choosing to get rained on with this sort of blind optimism that maybe the English sun would come out. Paul, though, will thrust an umbrella into his hand on the daily whether rain drops hit their bedroom window or not.  
Paul’s arms were wrapped around John’s neck keeping him extra warm. Paul was still asleep. As he laid there waiting for his partner to awake, John could feel Paul’s arm hair pressing against his smooth chest. He lightly dragged a finger up and down Paul’s forearm tickling his partner slightly. Smirking, Paul’s eyes fluttered open.

“Why do you always do that?” He whispered nibbling on John’s ear. 

“You’re like a little cat.” Paul rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. 

John kissed him, biting his lip as he pulled away. 

“Happy Valentine’s Eve, my love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Eve, my love, my love, my love,” John replied, not to be out done. He kissed Paul again, slipping his tongue passed Paul’s teeth. He could feel Paul’s dick press against his inner thigh. “We have to get to work,” Paul mumbled. “George Martin will kill us if we’re late.” 

“What’s he going to do? Fire his cash cows?” 

John stroked Paul’s hair. 

“I can skip my shower,” John said suggestively. 

“Or,” he paused, “you could join me.” 

They leapt out of bed, either wearing red boxer-briefs and socks, and practically raced into the bathroom shutting the door behind them.  
Paul thrust John’s body into the bathroom door. They began furiously making out. John immediately reached out for the light quickly illuminating the small bathroom. Paul hid a smirk noting John’s fear of the dark. John then pulled away and raced over to the glass shower in the corner. John slid open the shower door and threw his socks and underwear off. Paul slid the door open and joined him. 

The water poured down over their faces making their fringes stick to their foreheads. John pulled his partner closer to him feeling Paul’s throbber up against his thigh. He pushed Paul up against the shower wall kissing him madly. Paul slid his tongue down John’s throat. John not being able to wait any more, got down on his knees and wrapped his lips around Paul’s hard dick. Paul began to moan in satisfaction. John sucked harder and faster, and as he did his free hand slid up the back of Paul’s thigh. He inserted a finger into Paul’s ass hole. All the while, not stopping his fellatio. 

Paul leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the glass, his breath fogging up the glass. He pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself; his moaning grew quicker and  
breathier as John fucked him harder. 

“Christ Lennon!” Paul shouted out, gripping John’s hair. John bit the tip of Paul’s and hit Paul’s prostate at the same time. Paul screamed out as he came into John’s chest. John finished just seconds after Paul and cupping Paul’s thigh as he did. 

“Fucking hell, McCartney,” he screamed as he ejaculated. John laid back against the tub panting. Paul spun around letting the water drip down his back. John rolled over to grab the soap. As he did, Paul paused to admire his partner’s body. He noted the curvature of his back and the slight muscle tone around his ass.  
What caught his eye was the little black inked birds making patterns against his shoulder blade. Paul caressed the tattoo with a somewhat incredulous expression. He recalled seeing that tattoo for the first time on their second date. 

They had just got back from dinner, and Paul had lit a few candles. As Paul was freshening up, John was lying face down on the bed completely naked. Paul hadn’t seen it on his 

first date, but when he saw it all he could say was, “You have a tattoo?”

“Yes, and?” John replied, lifting his head up. 

“I didn’t realize you were like that?”

“Like what? Dangerous?” He responded with a wink. 

“Stupid.”

John scoffed and sat up revealing his penis as he did. Paul thought that wasn’t fair and forced himself to look John in the eyes. 

“It just seems foolish to get something in your 20s when you’ll probably hate it in your 30s.” Is what Paul thought. What he said was, “I guess it’s kind of sexy,” and laid down next  
to John and the tattoo didn’t come up again for the rest of the night. 

“I know you hate it,” John said, pulling Paul from his reverie. 

“What are you talking about? You know I think it’s se—”

“Stupid—I know you think it’s dumb. But I happen to really like it,” he said playfully poking Paul’s stomach. “Is that alright with you?”

Taking the soap from him, he kept his mouth shut. Paul sat down across from him, sitting in about two inches of water. He started to lather his arms and John watched him do it with a keen eye. Paul, though, kept glancing at John’s shoulder. He could see the little black birdies from here. 

“Oh god, you really do hate it?”

“It’s not like I’m turned off by it,” Paul said, squirting some more soap into his hand. “But, what’s it going to look like when you’re old and your skin is all wrinkly?”

“First of all, I don’t give a fuck.”

Paul couldn’t help but laugh. 

“And second of all, do you really care that much how my shoulder’s going to look in 50 years?”

“No—but you will.”

“Won’t.”

“You don’t know that, John. And getting it lasered off really hurts.”

“Fun fact: I had this exact conversation with Mimi.”

Paul rolled his eyes and stood up. 

“What did I say,” John replied standing up. Paul shivered and John wrapped his arms around his partner’s shoulders. “Aw, look at your virgin skin,” he said, rubbing his shoulders. 

He gently kissed his shoulder blade. “Let’s all admire the alabaster curves as pure and white as snow.”

Paul pushed him off him suppressing a giggle. He turned the water off, leaving John’s balls covered in soap. He gave him a look like, “showed ya?”  
John scoffed and turned the water back on finishing the job. Paul walked out of the shower shaking his shoulders a little bit to show off his inkless skin. John was about to make a cheeky remark, but he caught his reflection in the mirror. He watched the birds move over his shoulder blades with every subtle movement. This was a trick he loved when he first got it. But that was 5 years ago.  
He abruptly shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, throwing a towel over his shoulders.


	2. For Who Exactly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul take a venture to Gimbles to buy Valentine's gifts. And while they're there, they have a bit of fun in the dressing rooms.

An hour later, the couple pulled up to Abbey Road. As they got out of the car and waved to the large band of fans screaming outside the door, no one would’ve known that Paul and John spent the morning taking a steamy shower. They were both well-dressed in clean-cut suits and smiling broadly. The fans were eager for Valentine’s Day asking to be John and/or Paul’s Valentine. They couldn’t help but a share a look like, ‘too late, girls’. 

As John hopped up the steps, he noted that the tattoo, which had been on his mind a lot all morning, was still a mystery to the fans. He always made sure to wear clothing that covered it, and the few times when photographers have done photoshoots on the beach, he’s always made sure his back wasn’t facing the camera. The one time he was almost caught was on holiday that summer. Every time he spotted a photographer, he made sure his back was either up against a beach chair or submerged in water. It was more exhausting than he would’ve ever thought. 

John and Paul resisted the urge to hold hands as they marched up the steps and into the studio. But as soon as the doors were shut, and they were in private, they locked fingers. 

“Morning, Lennon, morning Mrs. Lennon,” the receptionist said to them as they passed the front desk. 

“Hello Kathy,” Paul said coolly. “Will she ever stop that?” Paul said as soon as they were out of earshot. 

“I know, when is she going to realize it’s the other way around,” he replied cheekily. 

They were still giggling about it when they entered the studio.   
Glancing at his watch, George Martin called out, “Oh, so we are coming today. I gave your house a ring and no one answered.”

“We were probably en-suite—I mean route. We were probably en-route.”

John ran his fingers through his hair checking to see if it was still damp; it was. They both rushed over to their mics where their instruments were waiting for them. But there was something missing. 

“Where’re George and Ringo?”

“They are, incidentally, late.”

John and Paul shared a knowing look. They were never late. George and Ringo happened to live in the flat across from theirs, and while they hadn’t really thought much about it, they could hear their shower running as they left this morning. 

“They are probably running errands or something.”

They shared another knowing look. George Martin looked one somewhat clueless. 

“Alright, we’ll wait then.”

Just then, George and Ringo came running in, their hair soaked. Unlike John and Paul, they were bad at hiding their sin; the look in their eyes said it all: they just fucked—hard. John and Paul shared a looking signaling the same thing. 

There wasn’t exactly a competition between these two, but ever since the Starrisons moved in, the McLennons have kicked their love-making up a notch. And they do it in the living room a lot just to hit up against the front door. 

“I didn’t think you’d cum,” John said nonchalantly, tuning his guitar. This made George turn bright pink. 

He promptly picked up his guitar, and John smugly began to play, “Do You Want to Know A Secret” even though they recorded that two albums ago.” 

“John!” George Martin yelled out from the booth, “Get it together. We’re doing I’ll Follow the Sun.”

“Ooh,” the other three said at the same time. 

John ignored them and pressed on.

**

After they finished recording I’ll Follow the Sun, George Martin sent them home early. George and Ringo had to leave for Cheshire that afternoon for a Harrison family gathering. Paul had an a radio interview later in the afternoon, and John had the very rare afternoon off. But since they finished early, Brian decided to take John and Paul on a shopping trip.   
They pulled up to the employee’s parking lot at Gimbles. It had been a long time since any of the boys entered the front entrance of a shop. It was easier for them to pull in as an inconspicuous worker and make their way through back door like an innocent shopworker. 

They arrived in a storage room of sorts. It was a massive cement room with large shelves of un-stocked merchandise. And seemingly just to tempt John, there was a fully operational forklift parked a few feet from the entrance way. They stood at attention as one of the store-room operators rushed to get their manager. 

The Gimbles staff were well-prepared for their guests. They had little fake mustaches for them to wear, and they gave them massive Audrey Hepburn style sunglasses to wear. Brian walked beside them without having to wear any disguises at all. The boys couldn’t help but envy him as they walked into the store. Through their very dark glasses, they could see the very bright and glittery first floor. This floor was predominantly jewelry and cosmetics, so they went straight to the escalator and up to the fourth floor where Brian was interested in buying something for one of his beau’s.

“If one of you needs a gift for, you know, the other one, I can give you guys some privacy, and you can take a walk on your own.”

John and Paul just shook their heads.

“I’m supposed to buy Mimi something.”

“Aw, that’s lovely,” Paul said. 

“Yeah, I usually get her a scented candle. But I think she may be over them. Any suggestions?”

“Are you asking me what you should buy Mimi for Valentine’s Day?”

John didn’t reply as he stepped off the escalator and marched over to the home goods section. Paul followed along. At this point, Brian likely assumed that they wanted to buy gifts for each other, and just took off. 

For a couple of minutes, they looked at porcelain cats and a few lamps. 

“What does an auntie need for Valentine’s Day? I mean, it can’t be weird. It just has to say, “I love you, please forgive me for ruining Shakespeare.”

“Are you asking me this so I’d tell you what I want for Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes, Paul, a widowed cat woman is exactly your demographic.”

Paul snickered, but he didn’t answer. 

“If it helps, I got you something already.”

“Me too.”

This was a lie. Even though they both thought about it for weeks, neither of them had much time to venture out to the store to buy something. Usually, if they wanted to buy   
something, they’d send Neil or Mal out to buy it. But this had to be romantic, so they didn’t want to just send Neil to pick up cologne; it just didn’t feel right to them.  
And as John and Paul walked through the home goods section, eyeing some embroidered pillows with sayings like, “Home is the Heart of the Family,” and, “Laugh Out Loud”, both their minds were spinning trying to come up with gift ideas. 

“Do you like this one?” John asked, pointing out a crystal wine glass. “It’s not too much is it?”

“I mean, she did have to raise you for thirteen years. I’d think crystal wouldn’t be quite enough.”

John casually flipped him off while picking up the glass. He examined it closely as if with a jeweler’s eye.   
“Paul,” he said suddenly. 

 

“Yeah, John?” Paul was eyeing a wooden plaque that just said, “Love”. 

“When is the crystal anniversary?”

“John, you’ve yet to pick out a Valentine’s Day gift. You can’t worry about our anniversary yet. That is a level of procrastination that I do not understand.”

“I have a gift for you,” he responded, lying poorly. 

Paul suppressed a laugh. 

“Maybe we should split up and each look for something.”

“Agreed.”

Paul disappeared passed the soap rack, and John remained in place. 

“Excuse me!” He called out to a passing sale’s assistant. “When is the crystal anniversary?” 

“It’s the 20th wedding anniversary, sir. But there’s no way you’ve been married 20 minutes let alone 20 years.”

Sheepishly, he put the crystal glass away. 

“Is it your anniversary?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, but I thought it might help me get started.”

“How many years have you and your girlfriend been together?”

“Seven years.” He answered softly. “And s-she likes music, and I know that sexy stuff is usually the Valentine’s Day theme, but what if she’s not interested in lingerie.”

“Lingerie is a present for you, really. If you want to splurge, I say go for it.” And she pointed to a very pink, very satiny lingerie section not twenty feet from the home goods   
section. It was decked out for Valentine’s Day with little hearts hanging from the ceiling. Sheepishly, he ducked back into the home goods section, grabbing that “love” sign as he went along with some soap. He weaved through that section remaining low. The lingerie section was divided by a thin strip of linoleum which was heavily trafficked by frantic looking men on their lunch breaks. He tried to put on such a frantic expression and gripping his fake mustache, he dashed across diving into a rack of bras before a soul caught John Lennon shopping for lingerie. He knew no one would think it was for him, but then the girlfriend rumors would start, and those always upset Paul. So he made sure his mustache was on tight before going back out into the open. 

Almost all of the lingerie was for women, and that was something he probably should’ve predicted. There was row after row of bras, lacy panties, and chiffon nighties, but there was nothing suitable for a guy to wear. He expected at least some sort of thong, but there was nothing. 

Eventually, though, he saw something kind of interesting. They had a girder set with a fish nets and little straps. With heels, this would be the perfect comedy gift for Paul. He was about to take it off when he remembered the last time he gave him a comedy gift. He had given him penis pasta for his birthday one year, and Paul cried all night shoving spoonful’s of that pasta into his weepy trap. John swiftly hung the girder back up and exited the lingerie section unseen.  
He paid for the sign and the candle and had each gift wrapped and placed in a big white shopping back. 

He decided to look at the ties, and he found Brian standing over a tie rack with Paul at his side. So that plan was ruined.

“You got me a prezzie?” Paul exclaimed when he saw him. He noted that Paul was empty-handed.

“See, this is why you needed to stay on opposite sides of the stores.

“It’s not for you,” John said, hoisting the bag over his shoulder so Paul couldn’t look at it. “I picked up a couple of things for Mimi is all.”

“And neither of you have presents for one another.”

“I have a present,” John lied so, so poorly. 

“Don’t worry, I have presents for each of you, so at least you’ll each get one gift.”

He handed each of them a big box. they opened them up to find pastel blue shirts.

“Thanks, Brian!” they both hugged him.

“While we’re here, why don’t you go ahead and try them on.”

“Together?”

“If that pleases you?”

“Oh, that pleases me,” John said smoothly. Paul, giggling, grabbed John’s arm and pulled him through the aisles to the nearest dressing room. 

“Don’t take long!” Brian called back. 

“He won’t,” John called back disappearing behind a coat rack. 

Paul slammed the dressing room door shut, tossed his sunglasses aside, and ripped his fake mustache looking much less like a confused twink lumberjack. John ripped off his jacket and quickly undid the buttons his fingers moving at lightening speed. He grew inpatient with Paul, so he undid his shirt exposing his chest. Gently, John placed a few kisses along Paul’s collarbone. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he kissed his neck. 

He ran his hands through Paul’s dark hair, and Paul wrapped his arms around John’s lower back. 

“I’m so fucking horny, and I fucking want you.”

“What do you want.”

“Whatever you want.”

John pushed Paul up against the door, putting pressure on the lock. In the distance, they could hear a saleswoman call out, “Is everything okay in there?”

“It’s fine!” John called out. He then slammed Paul into the opposite wall nearly crashing into the mirror. 

“Watch it,” Paul whispered. 

“Sorry, sorry,” John replied between kisses. He sat down on the bench, sitting on a discarded dress. Paul sat beside him and unbuttoned his pants. John bent over his cock and sucked the tip hard causing Paul to let out a soft moan. John shushed him. John sucked harder and felt Paul’s knees trembling beneath him. 

“You bastard!” Paul whispered as he came into John’s mouth. John swallowed it and rested his head against Paul’s thigh. “You want a go?” 

John shook his head still out of breath. He came into his pants wordlessly. Paul was able to recognize his, ‘shut up and give me a sec,’ face, and couldn’t help but smirk. He pulled out a cigarette, and took a big long drag, lying half-naked in Paul’s lap. As he exhaled he said, “I could do that all day.”  
Paul looked down at the black birdies on John’s shoulder. He lightly poked one of the birds like a scientist poking at a mysterious specimen in a lab. 

“What?” John popped his head up. 

“Nothing, I just wondered if it hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

“Shut up. I’m talking about the tattoo. Did it hurt?”

“Yeah,” John replied, taking another drag, “But I didn’t care.”

He passed Paul a cigarette. As he shook out the match, he said, “Really?”

“Okay, I cared a little.”

Paul chuckled and took another drag. “Why would you put yourself through that?”

“You’re still on this shit? I got it; it’s done. I don’t care. Why do you care?”

“I do care, because you’re impulsive.”

“That’s news to who exactly?”

“That’s the thing: you’ve gotten so much better, John. You haven’t picked up some random street cat in almost 7 months, and you resisted the urge to buy that $10,000 antique table.”

“It wasn’t practical. But I don’t see your point.”

“My point is that every day I’m reminded of how much you’ve grown up just in the past few years. and every time I look at that tattoo, it just reminds me of all the bad parts of you.”

John sighed heavily and tossed his cigarette aside. He sat up pulled Paul close to him. 

“Bunny, love, I know how impulsive I can be, but there is such a thing as being too practical.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Paul, it took you 9 months to find the right dentist, and by that point your tooth had rotted out.”

“But I didn’t want just anyone to drill my teeth—it’s my teeth for crying out loud.”

“Which you had to have extracted, because of that little stubborn brain of yours.”

“Come on—”

“Every time we go to a restaurant, you order the exact same thing.”

“That’s not true—”

“You always order the chicken.”

“I like it.”

“Paul, there is such a thing as being too stiff for your own good. Show the world that you can do something fucking dumb. Because yes, I was young and stupid when I got that tattoo. But I’d rather give my older self a reason to say fuck-off, then to—”

“Have never lived at all.”

“Exactly.”

“What if you really do hate it someday? What if you do regret it?”

“Then I have a few regrets,” he said as he buttoned his shirt back up. “It’s something to live with, Paul.”

He marched out of the dressing room abandoning his bags. Paul was left alone, half-naked, and feeling defeated.   
Brian came to rescue him. 

“Brian,” he said softly, “I need you to drive me to Neil’s.”

“Okay,” he responded reassuringly. 

John had to escape out the back door of Gimbles and wait for a cab. Having abandoned all his stuff, including his disguise, it didn’t take long for a gaggle of girls to come out of nowhere and surround him. They all ganged up on him, and while he tried to shout over them, a police officer had to come and break up the crowd.

“Come on sonny,” he said, “I’ll take ya home.”


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their little spat at Gimbles, John and Paul confide in Mal/Neil and each hatch a plan to deal with their partner's rage.

Some time later, John arrived at Mal Evan’s flat in Southeast London. 

“Lennon!” He called out, giving John a big bear hug. “What happened to your shirt?”

“The girls,” he replied, tight-lipped as he dipped inside. 

Mal made him some tea and biscuits, and he specifically requested that John stay and chat for a bit.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Mal asked. 

“I just need a little bit of solicited advice.”

“Alright?” Mal knew these requests could go a number of ways. John once requested he buy a goat from this barmy restaurant downtown. ‘It was being abused,’ was his reasoning. 

Thankfully, a petting zoo happily took the goat. 

“Am I impulsive?”

Mal suppressed a laugh. 

“You’re asking me? The man who tends to your every request no matter how short-sighted, no pun intended.”

“Well, do you think it’s a bad thing?”

That Mal had to contend with. To kill time, he went back into the kitchen and opened another biscuit tin. And when he returned John just said, “Is it that hard to decide?”  
Mal, snickering, handed him chocolate covered biscuit. 

“John, I think it can be a very good thing. Your instinct is often to help people like the time you donated $800 to those starving orphans you saw on TV. Or that time you gave Mimi a BMW.” 

“Those were practical things, though, right?”

“But there are times when you do things a bit odd. There was that time when you spent three hours posing as a statue at the art museum.”

“That was hilarious.” 

“And the time you decided to try frog legs at that restaurant.”

“The vomit was colorful.”

“And there was the chicken and waffles venture in Florida.”

“I didn’t realize that restaurants in America were open at 3 AM; I got over excited.”

“And nearly caused a riot in South Beach after wandering away from security.”

“Oh yeah that.”

“And what happened to your shirt?”

He pointed to that rip in John’s collar.

“The girls, I told you.”

“And how did they get to you?”

“Well, I left my disguise in the dressing room—I see what you mean.”

Mal, imitating Brian, tried to sound reassuring: “You’re a good person, and I know your intentions are often good, but you’re turning 25 this year. Maybe stave off the chicken and waffles adventures.” 

Nodding, John stood up. 

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“Actually, I’m going to need you to drive me somewhere.”  
Picking up his keys, Mal asked, “Uh, where to boss?”

“I know you’re going to think I’m an idiot, but if I’m going to quit, I’m going out big.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just get the phone book.” 

**

“Neil, Neil, Neil!” Paul rapped on Neil’s front door. Neil sleepily opened the door. He found a shivering Paul standing outside with an armful of Gimbles bags. He looked like a sad, desperate puppy. 

“I’m off this week.”

“I need you—John’s probably at Mal’s, and I need someone to talk to.”

“Then go to Mal.”

“We’re not speaking?”

“Before Valentine’s Day? That’s terrible.”

“We had a fight, and I just need to talk.”

Neil gestured for Paul to come in.

Neil took a tray of cupcakes from the oven and put a few on a plate. As he put the kettle on, Paul sat his kitchen table, looking quite sullen.

“What was the fight about?”

“John thinks I hate his tattoo.”

“You do hate it.”

“It’s not hideous. I just hate looking it at.”

“Which implies it displeases you.”

Paul tried imagining the tattoo in his mind. On its own, the tattoo wasn’t so bad. The birds were nicely illustrated, and they made a lovely shape on his back. If anything, they made him look more masculine. 

“Do you think it hurts a lot? Getting a tattoo?”

“Probably. You know they use a needle?”

“Yes, and do you know who hates needles?”

“You?”

“John! He can’t stand needles. Yet, he let some barmy tattoo artist maim him with one. It’s impossible to wrap my head around.”

“You do realize it’s too late right? He has the tattoo. That’s not just going to rub off one day,” Neil said, picking up one of the cupcakes. He passed one to Paul who just stared at glumly. 

“I think that he thinks that I’m boring.”

“You’re not boring just because you’ve never tarnished your skin.”

“It’s not tarnishing it. He can live a perfectly normal life with that tattoo, y’know. He’ll live just as long.”

Neil was still confused as to what his problem was as he poured Paul his tea. He sat down across from his mate and sipped his tea. Paul politely sipped his even though he had little appetite. 

“Is your, uh, bedroom situation alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” he said in a very stiff, British-y way.

“Then what is it? Because frankly, he’s always going to be tattooed. And you, my fair client, have a porcelain cap because you waffled over a dentist for 9 months.”

“Weeks,” Paul mumbled, sipping his tea. “Maybe,” Paul said quietly, “That could change?”

“In what capacity?”

Paul tapped the sides of his mug, deep in thought. Neil watched him warily.

“I think I know what he needs for Valentine’s Day,” he said slowly, not looking. “Come on,” he stood up and put on his coat, “I’ll need you to drive me.” He picked up a couple of   
shopping bags from Gimbles and marched out of the apartment. 

Neil picked up his keys, for once, unsure exactly what Paul had planned.


	4. Testing Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul make big decisions about their tattoos. John seriously considers why he ever got the tattoo in the first place, while Paul is forced to wonder what it is about tattoos that are so appealing. On their own separate adventures, they both face big changes and a world of pain.

“John, are you sure about this?”

“It seems like the opposite of impulsive.”

“No, it’s the definition of impulsive. You just dropped everything and decided to show up here on a whim.”

John and Mal were sitting in a doctor’s surgery. They sat were side by side on a suede couch; they were across from several bikers and a surprisingly dapper gentlemen in a suit. The brand-new office was very narrow and well furnished. The walls were bright white and covered in modern art. The office was manned by one receptionist standing in front of a pale wood door. On the other side of that door, you could hear a little buzzing sound and a few muffled screams. John tried not to visibly cringe. 

“If I’m being honest, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about this. Well, I always said I’d do it when I turned 35, but 25 is just as good as any.”

“You’re 24.”

“You get the point, Mal.”

“And you’re sure you want it gone? I thought you liked it.”

“I do, sort of.”

“Is this about you-know-who? He can’t make you get rid of.”

“He’s not! But, I started to see myself through his eyes, and I want to show him that I’ve grown up.”

“Alright, John,” he said somewhat sternly, “I just want you to know that it’s going to hurt a lot.”

“I know that,” John answered flatly. 

“And, you may not like the results.”

“I’m aware of that.” 

“And it’s going to cost a small fortune.”

“Which I’ve got.”

Mal sighed heavily and patted John reassuringly on the shoulder. As if on cue, John heard an ear-piercing scream from the other side of the door. Cringing, he stood up abruptly.   
He was about to turn around and go when he paused. 

“Mal?” 

“If you need me to drive you home—”

“Just tell me one thing, does everyone secretly hate this tattoo?”

Mal laughed and gestured for John to sit back down. He sat on the arm of the couch instead. 

“I know a lot of people that have tattoos. It was common in my circles, so I can’t say it bothers me. And if you’re happy about it, then I have no room to judge. And Neil I know is a bit down on tattoos. George Martin loathes it, Brian hates it, and we know how Mimi feels.”

“Ooh, I’m getting war flashbacks.” He continued, “Would the fans hate it?” his voice softening. 

“It’s hard to say. They may think it’s dangerous in a cool way. Or they might think it’s too dangerous.”

John considered all of that and subconsciously scratched his back over the area where the tattoo was. 

“Why did you get it?”

“I was trying to overcompensate in a way. I knew a few things about myself that I knew others wouldn’t like. And, I thought I could maybe throw off the scent.” He imagined himself at 17, terrified to go into a bar or a club, because he just felt like he had a massive target on his back. The tattoo didn’t make that go away completely, but he thought he fit in somewhere. 

“But now, how do you feel, you know, about that?”

“I have you lot to protect me. So I don’t need to run from some street toughs.”

“And, do you know now where you fit in?”

“I’m proud of who I am, Mal. That is one thing that’s definitely changed. And maybe,” he said slowly, sitting beside Mal, “maybe Paul is right. I’ve moved on from this.”  
Mal clapped him on the shoulder, and John felt himself relax somewhat. 

“John Lennon!” The receptionist called out. John cringed and dug his fingernails into Mal’s arm. 

“Oh my god this is happening.”

“You want to do this,” he reminded him, You must have a reason.”

With a deep breath, John, still gripping Mal’s arm, John marched inside. 

**

Paul and Neil found themselves deep in the heart of, of all places, Tottenham. They were at the back of what looked like a gothic beauty parlor where all the furnishings were black. With it came rows and rows of leather chairs and wide mirrors. The walls were painted a dark gray, and just about every item in the place was black including the clipboard Paul was furiously filling out. He was sitting on a stool across from Neil who was looking up at a wall of photographs. Each one featured someone’s freshly inked tattoo. 

“They look alright up close,” Neil said, pulling Paul out of a reverie. “But they are, as I cannot stress enough, permanent.”

“Yes, Neil, that’s the whole selling point.”

“You could get henna,” Neil suggested pointedly, “Henna’s quite neat. You know, you could try it out.” He glanced at a few pictures of Henna and hoped it was enough to sway his client. 

“That’s what the old Paul would do,” Paul said with all the sage wisdom of a shaman. 

“Or the current one,” Neil muttered.

Paul shot him a death glare before returning to his paperwork.

“Hey Neil, do you know if I’ve had a tetanus shot.”

“We could call Brian. He has your medical records.” 

“Yeah okay. I’ll call Brian ask him for my medical records, so I can get a tattoo! I think he may personally have me murdered.”

“Actually, I think he’d get his hands dirty in this case.” He laughed out loud, but Paul couldn’t even muster a chuckle. Neil looked over at his friend and noticed he was shaking slightly. “If you’re hesitant, then maybe we shouldn’t do it. Get John a watch for V-Day. I’m sure he’ll like it just as much—or even better.”  
Paul shook his head and initialed the form. He handed it over to a woman in a black t-shirt with blonde hair and black roots. She glanced over the forms and back at Paul.

“You are, aren’t you?” She said out of nowhere.

“Who?”

“You’re that McCartney fella? From teley?” 

Paul nodded. She suppressed an excited giggle.

“Oh this is amazing! I’ve never tattooed a celebrity before! Can I put your picture up on my wall?”

“Uhhh….”

“We ask you keep this under wraps,” Neil interjected.

“Understood,” she replied. “Can I at least get an autograph?”

“Yes, you can,” Paul said promptly signing the first scrap of paper he saw. 

“Now,” she clapped her hands, “what are you looking for today?”

“Uh, I don’t know. What do people usually get?”

“Men like to get anchors. Do you want an anchor?” She pointed to a whole slew of anchor photos.

“Not particularly.”

“Why don’t you get one that says Mary? Like ‘R.I.P Mary?’” Neil suggested. 

Paul promptly shook his head. 

“Mum would hate it. It’d seem weird to pay tribute to her with something she’d loathe.”

They were silent as they both looked back at the photographs. There were dozens of them up there; yet none of them sparked any interest for him. 

“You could tattoo ‘John’ on your arm.”

“His face or his name?”

“Both I would think.”

Paul scoffed at that. It seemed, if anything, like a recipe for a bad break up and a lifetime of regret. 

“It’s romantic,” Neil added. Though he’d hate it if Mal did that for him.

Paul considered that, closing his eyes and picturing his name splattered across his shoulder blades. He pictured John tracing his finger over his own signature, like Paul was a contract or an autograph book. Shaking his head, he replied, “I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Alright, what about a beetle?”

“Creative, Neil.”

“Well, I don’t really know. I’m not the one who asked to go to a tattoo shop.”

Paul leaned back on his stool and look up at the vast array of photographs. He traced through every single photograph. There were colorful ones, big thick black ones, and ones with very intricate designs. They all looked nice, but he wasn’t sure if any of them were right. He pictured John’s tattoo and the way it looked against his skin. It always made him look serious and introspective. And that’s when it came to him.

“Miss, I think I know what I want.”

“I want to hear a bit more certainty than that. you’re not picking out an ice cream flavor.”

He glanced over at Neil.

“Shit Neil, Brian is so going to kill me.”

“Yep.”

“And my dad’s going to kill me when he finds out.”

“Oh yeah.”

“But will John like it?”

“He’ll probably love it.”

“Again, not ice cream flavors.”

“He’ll love it Paul. Then you two will match.”

“Exactly!”


	5. Take It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to be less impulsive, John gets his tattoo lasered off. And while he's in the chair, he has an unusual fan encounter. Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Paul picks out a brand-new tattoo hoping that John will appreciate what he's done. And he may not be the only one getting a tattoo today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning: I will be describing the tattoo removal process in some detail. It's not too graphic, but if any sort of medical treatment bothers you, or if you don't like needles, I'm just giving you a heads up. And as this is the big tattoo chapter, there will be needles all over this chapter. So again, just a heads up. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I appreciate every kudos, and I read all of your comments. x

Back in Southwest London, an ear-piercing scream cut through the lobby of a laser clinic. 

“John Lennon?” A young nurse in pink scrubs stood in the doorway of the surgery. John was lying in a dentist chair without a shirt trying his hardest to smile. Mal was sitting a few feet away trying to suppress a laugh—and failing to do so.

“H-hi,” was all John could muster.

She looked at John’s chart in disbelief. 

“You’re getting a-a tat-tat—”

“Yes, I have a tattoo, but it’s going away. So don’t get used to it.”

Her eyes seemed to be full of stars, and he was reassured that she was simply starstruck and not about to call the Daily Mail. 

“What’s your name?” John asked calmly. 

“It’s Jennifer,” she replied, “I’m a physician’s assistant.”

“And you’re treating me today?”

She nodded. He gestured for her to come closer, and she walked up to the edge of the chair. 

“There’s really nothing to be scared of, love. Now, if you want me to sign something, I will.”

She shakily pulled a pen and paper out, and John promptly signed it. 

“Mr. John Lennon, sir?”

“Yes, Jennifer?”

She squealed. He waited for her to continue. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re the assistant; the assistants never cause much damage,” he said lightly. She tried to believe him, but she was worried. 

“Are you sure about this?”

He nodded. 

“I’m ready,” he said quietly.

“Hold still.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body going tense. He then heard the sound of Velcro ripping, and it made him flinch. She then wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and squeezed the pump tightly. All the while, she looked painfully apologetic. John didn’t move even though his arm felt like it was about to burst. After she removed the cuff, she gave him some numbing cream.

“Does this work?” He asked as she rubbed it over his shoulder blade. 

“It should,” was her answer. “It’s pretty though,” she said. “I see some hideous tattoos every day, and this is not one of them.”

“Thank you, I thought if I’m gonna get one, it better be worth it.”

“Why are you getting rid of it.”

“Time to grow up, I guess,” he replied exchanging a look with Mal. 

The door swung open, and the doctor marched in wearing a smock and think orange glasses. He gave the nurse a pair as well. He then handed some to Mal. 

“What’s that for?” He asked after he received his. 

“You don’t want to be blinded by the laser.”

“Like, blinded-blinded?” His voice got uncharacteristically high.

Somewhat baffled, the doctor replied, “Yeah.”

John, suddenly feeling vulnerable in just his trousers, crossed his arms over his chest.

“Will this take long?” He squeaked.

“No. now lean forward. I have to examine you.” 

The doctor traced his fingers over the tattoo just like Paul had done a thousand times only his hands were much colder, and his breath was oniony. All the while, his stomach was churning.

“Nurse, can you hand me the lidocaine please?”

“Lidocaine? Why do you need lidocaine?”

“I don’t need it. You need it. Now stay still.”

John looked straight at Mal for support, but he was not hiding his concern well. Just then, John felt a prick in his back, followed by two more. It made him cringe. 

“That wasn’t bad,” he lied poorly. 

The nurse rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe the sting. He thanked her as it helped a bit. He was actually starting to relax till he heard: 

“Now, we’re going to prep the laser. Nurse Jennifer and I will be right back.” 

He shut the door behind them, and John was left feeling petrified and quite chilly. He rubbed his shoulder blade and could feel the numbness taking affect. Maybe, he thought, this won’t be so bad. It’ll be like a filling. Right?

He looked over at Mal for reassurance, and Mal was looking a bit pale himself. 

“Mal?”

“You’re scared.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Your knees are shaking.”

John looked down and realized his knees were trembling. He could feel his hands starting to shake too. He gripped his knees to get them to stop, but that just made his arms start   
shaking. 

“Okay? Remind me why I’m doing this again.” 

“Because you love Paul.”

“Right.”

Mal came over to John and patted his head affectionately. 

“Were you scared to get your first tattoo?”

“Of course, but I wanted it so badly that I didn’t care.”

“Why did you get it?”

“I told you already. I wanted to prove a point.” He replied rubbing his shoulder which, despite being numb, felt very tense. 

“But why this tattoo? Why the birds? I don’t think you’ve ever said,” Mal replied, sitting back down. 

“They mean,” he paused, “Oh god I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” he continued, “freedom. They mean freedom.”

“From what exactly?”

He shrugged which was sort of hard because one shoulder had become very numb. 

“My anxieties, pressure, expectations, and I don’t know. It was something I thought of during my O-Levels. I sat there spending hours taking an exam that would determine the rest of my life, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped at some desk forever. And the thought of taking flight and being able to go anywhere was the most desirable thing in the world.”

Turning to him, Mal said gently, “Do you want to get rid of it?”

“Actually,” John took a deep breath, “I do. Because, in a way, I’ve gone and done it. I ran away from everything I was afraid of, and I found something—or someone—that never fails to remind me of all the places I can go.”

Just then, the door swung open again, and Jennifer came in. He was going to start a conversation with her, but then he saw the doctor and the massive machine he was wheeling   
in. It was essentially a large metal box with a large metal arm stick out the top. At the end was a gun type-thing with two prongs sticking out of it. 

“Okay, John, are we ready?”

He closed his eyes, let Paul fill his mind’s eye, and simply nodded. The doctor signaled to Jennifer, and she picked a large metal tray containing a large stack of gauze and odd looking yellow gook. He heard the doctor snap on a pair of latex gloves, and Jennifer did the same. The sound which was ordinarily benign had become eerie.   
He leaned forward a bit, and the doctor rubbed John’s shoulders with the gook. 

“Are you going to tell me when—oh fuck!”

He felt the laser sting his back and with it came a little beep. He immediately thrust his arm out and gripped Mal’s arm. There were beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.   
John couldn’t see it, but Mal could see the little laser gliding over John’s shoulder. Its yellow light seemed harmless as it moved across his back muting the dark black birds into a pale gray. 

The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt like the doctor was rubbing his shoulder with sandpaper. Grinding his teeth, he was starting to regret his whole life. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t feel like he needed to scream. Clenching his teeth and holding steadfast onto Mal was all he needed to cope with that sting.   
After about three minutes, the beeping stopped and with it the pain. 

“Take a few deep breaths now.”

“Is it done?” John’s voice was weak. 

“For now.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘for now?’”

“You have to do about three more sessions.”

John’s jaw dropped.

“I have to do this again!” He exclaimed horror crossing his face. 

“You see, this is where your impulsivity becomes a problem.”

“Shut up, Mal!”

The doctor gestured for him to calm down. 

“It won’t be for several more weeks, and it’ll be a quick session.”

John groaned loudly.

“Does it at least look alright?”

Mal glanced at it and saw that John’s thick black birds had become gray and blistered. They looked like they were melting against a red, spotted sky. 

“Yeah, it looks alright.” He patted John on the head who looked pretty miserable. 

“Just think,” Jennifer said, “in about three months, your tattoo will be completely gone, and you’ll feel much better.”

“Thank you—wait did you say three months? Fuck me—sorry. I don’t mean to swear, but ow!”

“I tried to warn you,” Mal murmured.

Normally he’d say something charming or clever, but he only had enough energy to mew like a little cat.   
John was then wrapped up like a little mummy and sent on his way home. 

**

“On your elbows,” a commanding female voice called out. Paul was sat in the middle of a tattoo shop in Tottenham, and he was sitting on what was essentially black leather dentist chair. A female tattooist was stood over him, black latex gloves on, tattoo gun in hand, and ready to go. The gun was small and metallic looking with one long needle. Beside her was a small tub of black in and about fifteen rolls of cotton wool.   
Paul, gulping, leaned forward, so his bare back was facing the ceiling. He looked up at Neil who was flashing him a thumbs up. 

“Neil,” his voice was shaking slightly, “Stay, please.”

“I will, mate.”

He patted Paul congenially on the head. Paul took a deep breath and said, “Miss, I’m ready.”

“Great!” A not-so-slight buzzing sound filled the room. Paul sucked in a sharp breath, muscles tensing, he poised himself for the ink. 

The tattooist very gently touched the tip of the needle to Paul’s shoulder blade. He winced as he felt the sting. 

“That’s all it is?” He squeaked his eyes watering. 

“Yep, that’s the worst that it gets.”

He took a deep breath and tried to relax. Though, literally every muscle in his body was tense, and he was incapable of relaxing. Wincing, he looked up at Neil. 

“Why are you closing one eye?” Neil piped up. “You’re making feel bad.”

Paul laughed despite the fact that convulsing just made it hurt more.

“Stay still,” she instructed. 

The tattoo artist worked for several more minutes. The pain, unfortunately, was continuous. But it was manageable. He just had to keep still and try to think positive thoughts, and he’d be able to bear it. 

“How does it look?” Paul asked after a couple of minutes. 

“It’s very dark,” Neil noted. “It’s a nice contrast,” Neil continued in spite of himself. 

And then, the buzzing abruptly stopped. The tattooist put the gun away and stood up straight. Paul somewhat dazed sat up too. 

“It’s done already?” 

She nodded and presented him with a mirror. 

“Neil, I don’t know if I can look.”

“Come on,” he walked him over to one of the mirrors. He positioned Paul so he was facing away from it. And then, he slowly held up the mirror revealing Paul’s brand-new tattoo. 

Paul glanced over at it seeing the black ink blot in the mirror. To him, it just looked like a blotch. He stepped a bit closer and took a long look. He could see the black edges of the tattoo meeting against his reddened skin. The small tattoo looked insignificant from far away, but close up one could see the tiny details that had gone into it. beaming, Paul stepped away from the mirror. 

“Neil, it’s amazing!” He exclaimed. “Do you like it?”

“I do, but it’s not my opinion you care about.”

“John!” He turned away from the mirror again. He looked over his shoulder admiring the tattoo again. Smiling, he said, “I think he’ll like it.” 

He marched to the front desk to pay. All the while, Neil glanced at the photographs on the wall one more time. 

“Uh, miss, is it possible to make an appointment.”

“Sure! I’ll have the receptionist set it up.”

Paul looked at his roadie in shock. But he couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. 

“What? They look nice, and if I’m gonna cover it up what’s the big deal?”

Paul, still feeling a bit smug, marched out of the tattoo shop feeling a surprising adrenaline rush.


	6. V-Day Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul have their Valentine's Day date, but they have bigger things on their mind.

In order to keep their V-day gifts a surprise, John and Paul both decided to spend the night away from the apartment. After returning to Mal’s, John called Paul. 

“Hey, bunny?” He said somewhat tentatively. He was standing in Mal’s kitchen, leaning against the wall, the phone chord wrapped around his finger. 

“Hey,” Paul replied his voice quiet. He was sitting on Neil’s couch with a faraway look in his eye. “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earlier.”

“The same here,” John answered. “Honestly, it’s your life, and I had no right to but in.”

“I completely understand. And honestly, that tattoo is here to stay, and I should just shut up about it.”

Smirking, John replied, “Yeah, totally see what you mean.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I can’t come home tonight.”

“That’s weird. I can’t either.”

“That’s really weird,” John replied incredulously, “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with you?” His voice was surprisingly sharp. 

There was a long pause as neither of them had thought this far ahead.   
Stammering, John came up with something: “Mal did me a huge favor this afternoon. And now I have to repay him—by spending time with him while not on the payroll.”  
There was another pause as Paul clicked together a few ideas. He could see Neil hovering near the door, an ice pack held to his arm over his sore tattoo. He had to suppress a laugh. 

“Well, I actually had a different idea in mind.”

“Really?” John became intrigued. 

“Well, Neil did something a bit mad.”

He couldn’t hold back his laughter at his point.   
Blushing somewhat, John replied, “What the hell did he do?”

“It’s too good to tell you over the phone.”

Grinning like a teenager in love, he went on, “God I love you.”

“Till tomorrow?”

“Till tomorrow,” John whispered and hung up the phone. Mal who was sitting at the kitchen table looked almost giddy. 

“He’s going to be thrilled.”

Turning a bit pink, John agreed. 

“Thank you, by the way, for sharing your flat. I just want this to be a surprise, and if Paul and I get in the same bed there is no guarantee our clothes will stay on.”

“Cheeky,” Mal noted, before leaving to make up John’s bed.

**

The Beatles were given Valentine’s Day off. Everyone in the Beatles party was, by extension, given a day off. So when Mal woke up on Valentine’s Day, he almost forgot that he had a Beatle in his flat that he had to attend to.

“J-ohn,” he called, coming into the living room. John was lying on the couch covered in about four of Mal’s blankets. John’s eyes fluttered open, and he was almost surprised to see Mal’s face staring at his. He was so used to seeing Paul’s cute little button nose in his face. 

“Paul,” he said suddenly. “When can you drive me over.”

“Literally now. Remember, this is my day off as well.”

John apologized, thanked him about four more times, before getting dressed. 

On the other side of London, Paul and Neil were having morning tea. Neil had gotten some biscuits from M&S last night, and he put them out with some Earl Grey. 

“You must be in a good mood,” Paul pointed out.

“Oh, I’m just doing a test run for tonight. I mean, when Mal sees the tattoo…” 

“He’ll like it,” Paul reassured him.

“And John will like yours,” he replied sipping his tea. 

“I hope so.” Paul, glancing at the biscuits, realized his appetite was gone. 

“But I do have to ask,” Neil replied putting his mug aside, “do you like his?”

Paul shrugged.

“I can definitely appreciate it more now. Now that I know what he went through to get it.” He shuddered. “I almost feel bad for teasing him over it.”

“Well, now you can apologize with sincerity.”

“That’s true…”

**

“I’m so glad we got to do this. We never get to go out on dates anymore.”

John and Paul were at Desi’s a brand-new restaurant in Soho. In fact, it was so new that it had not officially opened yet. The owner, a rich young artist name Jacque, had done a ‘soft opening’ with just John and Paul as his customers. And because they were virtually alone, they could have a proper romantic date.   
They were sat at a table in the middle of the vacant restaurant. It felt so good to be sat out in the open without having to hide behind some large plants. They were holding hands which they haven’t done in public in over three years. 

“God, out of all the perks to being famous, this has to be the best one,” John noted as they were served their entrée. Paul squeezed John’s hand tighter. He was smiling, but on the inside he was ready to burst. Every subtle movement made his tattoo flash with pain, and it only reminded him of what he had to do later. 

“Salt?” John asked. 

Paul handed it to him once again hit with a small wave of pain. His tattoo felt a bit like a bad sunburn, but he couldn’t let that show. As much as he wanted to show it to John, he had no idea if he’d be excited, angry, or even a little sad. He thought that John may have actually admired Paul’s virginal skin, and if he’d be disappointed.   
John cut into his steak. He smiled, but inside he was cringing hard. He had no idea that the laser would leave such damage. His skin was swollen and irritated. And even the slightest movements caused a wave of pain. To try to cover it up, he just kept laughing for no reason. Paul looked at him strangely.

“Are you alright? You’ve been a bit giggly.”

“I just can’t wait to show your prezzie.”

“You got me one?”

“Duh. What do you think I was doing all yesterday afternoon with Mal?”

“I don’t know. What favor did he do for you?”

“I don’t know. What did Neil do to piss of Mal?” John replied shortly. 

Paul didn’t reply, and John refuse to speak, so they both sat silently staring at their entrees. 

“You won’t be mad,” Paul replied.

“Why would I be mad?” John’s voice went off. He looked at his partner searchingly. “How much did you spend?”

Paul shook his head and downed a glass of wine. John kept eyeing him, knowing that Paul was weak and fragile and he’d snap at any moment. 

“Look, it’s not about money.”

“What did you do?” John was more excited at this point than ever. “Did you finally find the right dermatologist?”

“Forget it,” Paul mumbled setting his glass aside.

“No, I’ll forget about it. This is our one big date a year, and I am not going to spend it arguing about dermatology.”

“Good,” Paul replied quietly. He squeezed John’s hand. 

The pair look into each other’s eyes. It was almost like a romantic aura had flooded the room as they looked lovingly at one another. 

“You know,” John said slowly, “I could take this steak to go.”

“And I always prefer pasta leftover.”

Grinning, they asked for the check. John handed him a 100—which was about 80 pounds too much—and they took off, holding hands and giggling like honeymooners.


	7. Let's Get It On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul finally reveal their tattoos--or lack of tattoos, and then they have some V-Day celebratory sex.

The door to their flat swung open, and John and Paul raced inside. Locking the door behind them, John and Paul locked lips. 

“Don’t stop,” John whispered before kissing Paul again. Paul slammed John up against the front door. A picture frame cracked and fell off the wall. Laughing, they raced over to the couch. John threw himself against the couch. As his shoulder blade hit the cushion, he felt a stinging sensation come over him. He cringed slightly.

“What happened?” Paul knelt down beside him; nurse mode: turned on. 

“I’m fine,” John insisted, carefully sitting up. “It’s just that,” he started undoing his tie, “I have something to show you.”

Paul looked at him in bemusement. 

“Is it sexy underwear?”

“Not gonna lie,” John said throwing his tie across the room, “I did consider that.” he sat up straight as he unbuttoned his shirt. He tossed that aside as well. Finally, he took off his undershirt and faced his partner. 

“I don’t understand,” Paul replied sitting on the couch opposite to him. “Is my Valentine’s Day sexual pleasure, because I got that two years in a row, and now that we have money it’s not really cute anymore.”

John turned the light on and stepped forward. 

“I’m still conf—”

John spun around revealing the scars of his lasered off tattoo. It was still healing, so it looked like a big red splotch. Though, one could still make out the grayed out birds over his shoulder blade. Paul looked up at his partner in utter shock his eyes wide. A smile started to form but faltered. 

“What did you do?” His voice was quiet but there was bitterness there. 

“I got my tattoo lasered off. Isn’t that what you always wanted.”

Paul had to admit, he wasn’t wrong. “I know you loved that tattoo, and it was wrong of me to make you do it.”

“You didn’t. honest. I came to this decision on my own. You just helped me see the truth.”

“So…?

“Your present is my not-so-virginal skin.”

Paul smirked. He practically pounced on his partner, both were giggling. 

“Okay, it looks like a bloody mess right now,” John pointed out. Paul tentatively stroked the bruised skin. John winced slightly. “But I promise,” John continued, kissing Paul’s soft hands, “in three months my skin will be smooth and clear. And you’ll be able to look at me without thinking, ‘god what an impulsive twat.’ And that is your present.”

“I love it.” Paul looked genuinely thrilled but slightly amused. 

“You do?”

Paul came over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Taking his hands he said, “It was really thoughtful of you, honest. But there is just one little problem.”  
Now it was John’s turn to look confused. 

Paul swiftly got undressed. Tossing his clothes aside, he turned and faced the opposite wall revealing his brand-new tattoo. Over his shoulder blade was a single black bird in mid-flight. John stared at it agape. Then, he broke out in hysterics. Paul turned pink. 

“What?”

“No, it’s just, I get rid of mine while you get yours. You have to laugh at that.”

Paul giggled and ruffled John’s hair.

“What do you think?”

“It’s fucking gorgeous, mate.”

“You like it?”

John wrapped his arms around his partner, squeezing him tightly. Paul beamed. 

“I bloody love it,” he said gently. “Oh Paul, you did something dumb and impulsive,” John cooed.

Paul nodded cheekily. 

“When did you get this?”

“Yesterday. I went with Neil to a tattoo shop in Tottenham.”

“They’re very good,” John commented noting the line work. 

“Thank you.” Paul was still blushing. John stared lovingly at his partner still in disbelief at what he had done. 

“Did it hurt?” The worry in John’s voice came out then. 

“A bit. Did yours?”

John nodded, his eyes widened in horror. Paul giggled.

“Mimi was right.”

“And so were you,” he said, playfully stroking his hair. “So, the birds are gone?”

“Now you like them?” John exclaimed. 

Laughing, he replied, “I can appreciate them, but I appreciate this gesture more—okay?”

“Okay, because I did not go through that pain for nothing.”

“I went through pain.”

“Yes, but I have to go back—three more times.”

“No?”

“Yes. And it fucking hurts mate. Mimi was fucking right, and I hate her for it.”

Paul kissed John’s aching shoulder blade. His cool skin felt nice against his sunburnt flesh. Smiling contentedly, he looked over at his partner. 

“How did I get so lucky?”

“To have me?”

“No, because I have my health,” he responded flatly. “Of course because of you. You are,” he sighed, knowing he was about to say something cheesy, “the best thing that’s ever   
happened.”

“Anywhere?”

“Name one thing better than you.”

Paul paused, considering it, and smirked. 

“Don’t make me say it.”

“What?” John leaned forward, stroking his partner’s hair. 

“Shut up, it’s cheesy.” Paul turned away, smiling cheekily. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day. You have a free pass to be a romantic cheeseball: go.”

Paul rolled his pretty eyes and replied, “you?”

“Me what?”

“You asked me to name something better than myself.”

Grinning, John pinned Paul to the couch and kissed him passionately. Smiling, Paul pulled away. “Do that again.”  
John then picked him up and carried him over to the bedroom. he threw him down on the bed and kissed him again, making Paul’s head spin. He gently lifted his head up, his lips parted. Paul slowly opened his eyes. 

“Go on,” he whispered.

John leaned down and gently kissed Paul again. He kissed his lips, and then planted kisses all along his jawline. He nibbled on Paul’s ear and kissed the nape of his neck. He licked the length of Paul’s collarbone. Paul shut his eyes, smiling contentedly. John kissed Paul’s shoulder. 

“Lean forward,” he whispered. John sat straight up, and Paul pressed his body into John’s. John slithered behind Paul’s back. 

“Where are you going?” He said playfully. John looked down at the single bird etched into Paul’s shoulder. He slowly leaned forward and gingerly kissed the little bird. Paul was amazed at how soothing his lips felt; it was like aloe on a sunburn. He looked over his shoulder at his partner who was staring lovingly at the tattoo. “I didn’t think it’d make me this happy.”

“See, impulsivity pays off.” He kissed the little tattoo once again. Paul spun around and kissed John. Grinning, John fell back against the bed. 

“Turn over.”

“Cheeky git.” He hid away an overly eager smile in order to appear coy. Paul knew that exact look; he had invented that look. 

“Do it,” he whispered forcefully in John’s ear. 

“Yes,” John replied, “Yes to anything. “ 

John removed his belt and tore his trousers off, ripping the seams.

“That’s not good,” he muttered before removing his pants. 

He sat up on his elbows revealing an erect penis. Paul looked at it hungrily. Also removing his trousers and pants, he slithered up next to John, and the two laid side by side staring lovingly in each other’s eyes. For a moment, they just laid like that together, disallowing their bodies to touch. They could feel electricity propelling them forward, compelling them to just move a few inches. But they couldn’t turn away from each other. John, as usual, blinked first.

He took Paul’s chin and planted a kiss on his lips. He rolled over then; he reached one hand out to grip the headboard. He used the other hand to reach into the night stand and pull out a tiny bottle. Paul squirted a few drops of the milky liquid into his hands. Paul, straddling his partner, slipped a finger up John’s ass hole. John moaned pleasurably. Paul slid his finger deeper and massaged the tight area. 

“Fuck yes,” John whispered, his back arching slightly. 

Paul thrust his fingers in harder, hitting John’s prostate. He screamed out, gripping the headboard harder. 

“Fuck yes, Macca, fuck yeah!” He shouted. 

Suddenly, Paul pulled away, and John picked his head up off of the pillow, confused. 

“Babe, don’t stop now.”

“I’m not,” he replied simply. He pushed John’s head back into the pillow, and he repositioned himself, inserting his cock into John’s ass hole. 

“Oh, Macca, fucking, fuck, fuck yeah!” He shouted as Paul thrusted his penis into John’s ass. He pushed harder and faster, and all the while John was moaning in absolute satisfaction. John, gripping the headboard, demanded more. And Paul kept thrusting harder and harder, John’s moaning got louder and until he screamed out in pleasuring, cuming into the sheets. A few seconds later, Paul came, his head back, shouting into the night. 

He then fell back against the sheets lying at the opposite end of the bed. They both lied motionless for a few seconds as they tried to catch their breath.

“Wow, McCartney, when you go on top you really go for it.” 

“Oh, I’m not done,” Paul whispered. 

John, grinning, sat up and pressed his half-erect penis up against Paul’s thigh. They kissed and gently fell back against the bed, their heads hanging just off the edge, John’s foot slammed against the headboard, and Paul’s leg hit the bedside lamp. 

“We need a bigger bed,” John said before kissing Paul again. The two rolled over fall onto the floor, pulling the blanket with them. With hungry eyes, Paul slithered down to John’s waist. He massaged the tip of John’s dick until it became fully erect again. He then kissed the tip of John’s dick. 

“Do you want it rough?” He barked. 

“Rough as you can go.” 

He pinned John down, and then crawled across the room over to the closet. He grabbed a couple of ties and brought them over. He wrapped one around John’s wrist and ted him to the bed frame. He knelt over his partner and lowered his head over John’s chest. He reached down and bit John’s neck, and John moaned deeply. Paul pulled away leaving two red teeth marks. He then nibbled on John’s ear lobe making John giggle somewhat. Paul traced his tongue down the length of John’s body all the way down to his cock. He tickled John’s balls with his tongue which made John squirm pleasurably. 

“Keep going,” John commanded. John, unable to pull away, was at Paul’s mercy as he massaged his dick with his tongue. Reaching the tip, he tapped his teeth together, “Don’t stop!” he shouted out. He fell back against the carpet, his body tingling. Paul’s lips closed around the shaft, and he sucked on the tip hard. He pulled away then and said, “My turn.”  
Grinning, with one hand still tied up, he pushed Paul up against the side of the bed. He spun around and placed his hands around John’s waist, he pushed him forward. John thrust his fully erect penis into Paul’s anus immediately hitting his prostate. Paul was always amazed at how quickly John made it there. Gripping the sheets with both hands, Paul screamed out.

“You’re not done,” Paul panted. He repositioned himself, so he was sitting in John’s lap. His bare chest was pressed into John’s, and he carefully took John’s free hand. He pressed it to Paul’s dick and then let go. John stroked Paul’s erect cock gently at first, and then did so quickly and forcefully till Paul started screaming. Paul pressed himself up against the bed. “Do that again.”

John replied, “happy too.”

He continued to pump his cock into Paul’s anus forcefully. Paul, all the while, moaned happily. John wove his fingers through Paul’s hair as his movements got harder.

“Don’t stop!” Paul shouted, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

Screaming out, John and Paul came simultaneously. When it was finally over, they fell against the carpet, out of breath and covered in sweat. They faced each other, their lips parted, their hands interwoven, and feeling fine. 

“That was—”

“Incredible,” Paul finished. 

John kissed Paul’s lips gently. Smiling contentedly, he lit a cigarette. 

“You know,” John said, exhaling a small cloud of smoke, “I would’ve got mine lasered off years ago if I knew it’d bring that out of you.”

Smirking, Paul picked up a cigarette and replied, “If I’m being honest, it felt kind of good. Like getting scratched with those claws of yours.”

“Oh these?” John bared his surprisingly long and sharp fingernails. He playfully scratched Paul’s neck leaving little red marks.

“Oh Johnny,” he said softly.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Grinning, John pounced on top of Paul, both giggling like honeymooners.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by a Sims gameplay I'm doing now with John and Paul Sims. When I made the John Sim, he came with some tribal tattoos. I was having some trouble getting rid of them, and I ended up looking at a variety of tattoos, and I was surprised that John Sim actually looked kind of hot with a bird tattoo over his left shoulder blade. But I knew if John ever got one, he probably would have to deal with a very stern Paul.


End file.
